Katerina Roberts
The following articles are copyright to Katerina Roberts, and may not be reproduced in any form without her consent in writing.
- Beyond the Beach
- Mauritius too hectic? Escape here
- My Kind of Town – Port Louis
- Spectacular Reunion
- When the boat comes in
First published in Emirates in-flight magazine, 2003
The handsome antlered stag was surrounded by a herd of deer; mothering females munched on grass, gentle babies nuzzled up to them while lithe males with velour covered horns kept watch. They froze at the slightest sound, hesitated an instance and fled one by one into the bush.
I had discovered Wolmar Nature Reserve nestling behind a glorious swathe of beach on Mauritius’ west coast and was keen to see these graceful creatures in their natural habitat. This privately owned estate offers deer hunting and safari tours, and although the deer hunting season was over, I joined a party lead by Sebastian, a brawny khaki-clad guide.
As the late afternoon sun illuminated the landscape in a blaze of vermilion light, Sebastian drove us through the 300-acre estate, switching effortlessly from English to French to accommodate some Gallic participants, and explained how Wolmar, previously off limits to tourists, now welcomed them to discover a facet of local life.
We passed huge orchards groaning beneath the weight of ripe tropical fruit before stopping at a clearing surrounded by thick forests of eucalyptus and casuarina trees. Sebastian ushered us towards smoke spiralling from a makeshift kiln. “Madame,” he announced, pointing to a Creole girl with alluring African features who was raking the burned black remains of wood, “is making charcoal in the traditional way.” Madame with a wink emphasised her marriageable status. “Non monsieur, je suis mamzelle.”
Nearby we were shown what was left of a low boundary wall, built by slaves for their masters to contain plantations of sugar. These days Wolmar is linked to tourism, providing employment for local people who supply not only charcoal and mountains of mango, pawpaw and pineapple for hotel barbecues and buffets, but home-reared venison and wild boar too.
Some 800 meters inland were the remains of a coral reef, now just a huge weathered boulder, which was probably pushed up from the sea as a result of an underwater eruption millennia ago. I was more fascinated by Sebastian’s narrative of pirates than his geological explanation of how it got there. “In the old days”, he said, “pirates would leave the beach and explore dense virgin forest, now virtually disappeared, and make gunpowder from the bark of the albizia blackwood tree. Others chopped wood for their boats and some even buried treasure at this very spot...”
Suddenly he bristled with excitement when something fat and hairy rustled in the undergrowth. “Wild boar! Over there! Very tasty!” he said. Like deer, these animals were imported by the first Dutch settlers for their meat and today’s big black wild porker, is a descendant of the original domestic pig.
Our tour of Wolmar finished with vegetable samousas and soft drinks laid out on a picnic table overlooking a savannah plain where a gorgeous herd of deer grazed oblivious to our presence. Two Frenchmen crept behind a tree clutching cameras, treading carefully so as not to disturb them but the soft breeze must have carried a whiff of their scent. “Merde!’ they muttered in unison as the antlered grand-daddy stared in disdain, the females twitched, the babies tensed and the entire herd fled from sight.
Animal instinct teaches them to take no chances even with the most casual observer but how could they ever know that, outside the hunting season between October and May, they are safe from the hunter’s gun. “There are around 60,000 deer in Mauritius, all descendants of a dozen Java deer brought here by the Dutch in 1659 and we hunt them to keep the population down,” Sebastian later explained. “There are 3000 deer on the reserve and we have about 1000 new births each year. If we don’t shoot them they will die from starvation so hunting is a form of conservation.”
The same does not apply to the Mauritius Pink Pigeon, saved from the brink of extinction by committed conservationists. , These days it thrives quite happily on Ile aux Aigrettes, a conservation area managed by the Mauritius Wildlife Foundation, only a ten minute boat ride from the luxurious Preskil Beach Resort, due to open in October 2003, at Mahebourg in the south.
To spot more Mauritian birds, such as the yellow weavers, white tailed tropics or Mauritius kestrels, take a hike in the Black River Gorges. If you’d prefer a rather more adventurous route taking in the vistas of undulating sugar cane-swathed slopes in the deep south at Bel Ombre, then join a Land Rover safari with Espace Aventure, which includes a stop for informal lunch at a Mauritian home.
Back on the beach my waiter asked if I had shot anything. “What a pity,” he mused after my negative reply. Somehow I didn’t fancy the venison after seeing those fine creatures at Wolmar but had a platter of roast wild boar instead.
Mauritius too hectic? Escape here
First published in Emirates Independent on Sunday, 1998.
The dawn flight from Mauritius to the island of Rodrigues is every cabin crew’s nightmare. Sanjay, our steward, sulked as he dished out breakfast to 48 zombies who, like him, had risen in the middle of the night to check in. It didn’t help when I pointed out to him that a scorpion was somersaulting across my meal tray. The French holidaymakers were predictably agitated, returning Rodriguans somewhat sanguine and Mauritians frankly frightened. Sanjay forced his best corporate smile in an effort to pacify the rising hysteria and muttered: “I don’t know why they’re all going to Rodrigues. There’s nothing to do there.”
Oh, such bliss, I thought. I was happily leaving the maelstrom of Mauritius for a three-day sojourn to its other island and, besides, “doing nothing” really appealed.
If Mauritius is minute, then Rodrigues is microscopic. Arrive at this Indian Ocean backwater, 400 miles east of its big sister, Mauritius, and you feel almost quarantined from the rest of the world in a landscape reminiscent of Scotland in the tropics. Just 11 miles by five, with hilly ridges and deep valley, it is surrounded by a set of coral reefs, thrown up like rows of giant-sized pearl necklaces around a shallow, gin-clear lagoon.
Phanuel Leveque, our chirpy guide, met us in his Rodtours-emblazoned minibus at the tiny airport. “Rodrigues is simple – not sophisticated like Mauritius,” he said as we bounced across the central ridge of the island to Cotton Bay in the east. Benign cattle grazed on glorious grassy hillsides, plump pigs and free-range chickens fled as the minibus shunted through shanty villages and ebony-skinned children with oversized backpacks full of school books chanted ‘Bonjour” all the way.
The Cotton Bay Hotel is a bastion of small island luxury. It hugs a deep crescent of sugar-white beach backed by coral cliffs and a forest of casuarinas, a kind of spindly pine tree. “People come here to escape the stress in Mauritius,” said Phanuel, pointing to a Mauritian hotelier who languished like a clapped-out chameleon beneath the trees. “It’s up to you. You can do nothing or you can come with me and I will show you round.”
Rodrigues has just opened its doors to the outside world. In truth, they were never closed but until flights started from Mauritius the only way of getting there was by a monthly cargo vessel, which took 48 hours. These days you can buy a package staying at one of the three brand new hotels or opt for simple guesthouse accommodation in the capital, Port Mathurin.
The islanders draw a careful balance between the economic benefits of tourism and its impact on such a small island. A few years ago they formed the Association of Rodrigues Tourism Operators, and Phanuel introduced me to one its members, Englishman Paul Draper, who has lived there for 25 years.
Paul is in charge of Craft-Aid, a Mauritian-based charity, which has a branch in Port Mathurin. The local authorities, he explained, need to implement a policy of environmental protection and ‘select tourism’ to compete with Mauritius’ highly developed tourism industry.
Going green on such limited resources when you are so removed from the motherland is easier said than done, and it is left very much to individuals to do their own thing. One enterprising artist voluntarily painted all the town’s litter bins and for good measure added, “Keep Rodrigues clean ‘n green.” Meanwhile signs spread all over the island plead, “Keep Rodrigues Beautiful.”
But Craft-Aid scores high with a range of innovative eco-tourism projects. One of these is a rehabilitation and production workshop for people with disabilities where bleached animal bones and discarded coconut shells are carefully carved into lovely items of jewellery. “This way,” said Paul, “waste is recycled and turned into useful and decorative products to promote our tourism”.
Another is a model apiary attached to the workshop, which not only helps local beekeepers to improve their skills but also provides employment for people with disabilities. “We buy the honey from the locals,” said Paul, “which we bottle and sell here and in Mauritius”.
Over the years, the workshop has developed into a tourist attraction, where you can buy pressed flower cards, coconut earrings, bracelets, brooches and necklaces and honey which has twice received prizes at the London National Honey Show. But the visit also includes a tour of Craft-Aid’s other projects, a more humanitarian rather than profit making concern: a school for visually and hearing impaired young people.
It is easy to surrender to the smooth magic of a Rodrigues sunrise, bask on the beach, swim in a translucent lagoon, scuba from the hotel dive school or go horse riding. But this rugged island just begs to be explored and my earlier plans to do nothing vanished.
You can go with a qualified diving instructor to see18th century shipwrecks which foundered on the reef in just a few feet of water, or join a guided trek across gentle hillsides and newly planted forests of casuarinas to the “Hole of Silver” or Trou d’Argent. Or you can just trot off on our own, or hire a bike.
Everyone walks on Rodrigues, yet you never get the feeling that it is overcrowded. I trekked along remote mountain roads, explored deep ravines and often when I thought I as the only person on the planet, a family of Rodriguans with toddlers in tow would pop up from a grassy rugged landscape and wave a cheery “bonjour”. The islanders’ ancestors originate from Africa and Europe and it is quite hard to believe that Rodrigues is a part of Indian-dominated Mauritius.
Gaily painted buses, with names like Pacific Wonder or Supercopter, disturbed the calm of the tropics as they wheezed and spluttered round hairpin bends and mountain hamlets. They carve out masterly routes to all corners of the island and are perfect for short trips but as they stop running at 4pm I hired a jeep. I could have driven all day. There are no traffic lights, no traffic jams, no parking restrictions and nothing to provoke road rage.
One of my finest days out was a boat ride to Ile Cocos, one of 18 islets inside the lagoon. I hooked and cooked my own fish, trod floury sands, listened to the screaming chatter of thousand of birds and was just sorry that I could not stay longer. Ile Cocos is a designated nature reserve and home to terms and noddies so overnight stays are not allowed.
Wildlife is pretty thin on the ground but I had great fun spotting the endangered Rodrigues Fruit Bat, which comes out at dusk to feed on jamrosa and mango trees. I entered the same deep dark valley that the writer Gerald Durrell found when he came here more than 20 years ago but, with a comfortable room beckoning back at Cotton Bay and the night closing in, I never got as close to them as he did.
Wildest and wackiest of all and not for the faint-hearted was a trip to Caverne Patate where the bones of the extinct solitaire, a gigantic flightless pigeon, were discovered more than 100 years ago. These underground coral caves, some 60 feet below ground contain carved rock look-alikes of Winston Churchill and the Great Wall of China. How they ever got there remains a Rodriguan mystery. I stuck close to my guide who shone his torch on passages studded with stalagmites and stalactites. My buttocks clenched in fear when he related in sombre tones how two English explorers were lost forever. Half expecting to trip over their remains, I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached ground level.
Three days were hardly enough to explore every facet of Mauritius’ little sister. Still, Sanjay was much happier on the flight back and his 48 passengers were every cabin crew’s dream. We were all sun tanned, stress-free and certainly glowing. “Welcome aboard,” he grinned. “I told you there was nothing to do.”
First published in Sunday Telegraph, 2005
Why Port Louis?
I’ve seen the Mauritius capital undergo a major clean-up over the last two decades. Once a sleepy Indian Ocean outpost of dockside debris, dark streets and tumbledown dwellings backed by mountains, today the city is a fascinating jumble of Franco-British colonial-style architecture dwarfed by gleaming modern office blocks overlooking a welcoming waterfront of renovated warehouses, trendy shops and restaurants.
What do you miss when you are away?
Eating on the hoof around the Central Market where Indian, Chinese and Creole pavement cooks dish up whole peeled pineapples, spicy lentil wraps, chilli cakes and bowls of noodles doused in chilli sauce for less than 50p.
What’s the first thing you do when you return?
I stroll along the smart palm-tree lined pavements of Place d’Armes, then a catamaran cruise to view the city from the sea to remind myself that if the skyline keeps changing, the mountains never do.
Where’s the best place to stay?
The Labourdonnais (Caudan; 202 4000 www.labourdonnais.com from £200) brought life after dark when it opened in 1996. With a guest list that includes Baroness Thatcher and Nelson Mandela, this haven of sophistication has six floors of well-appointed rooms and views, an elegant bar and three restaurants.
Where would you meet friends for a drink?
The Spinnaker Bar at Le Suffren Hotel, on the Bassin du Caudan for its contemporary nautical décor, marina views and affable staff. I’d go mid-week for a quiet chat over a local Phoenix Beer; Friday’s Happy Hour (5pm to 9pm) is a lot more raucous with mind-blowing Green Island rum cocktails.
Where are your favourite places for lunch?
Café de Vieux Conseil (Rue de Vieux Conseil; 211 0393), popular with ex-pats and the business community, retains a casual colonial ambience in a tree-shaded courtyard carefully concealed from the cacophony of town. La Flore Mauricienne (212 2200), in animated Intendance Street is perfect for people-watching from an outdoor terrace while gorging on the local spicy fish curry. Expect to pay around £7 per head. For fast food at less than £2 per head try the Food Court on the waterfront.
And for dinner?
Soft jazz and romantic harbour views conspire to blow the budget at the Labourdonnais’ Rose des Vents where Champagne and a sumptuous seafood platter will set you back around £35 per head. For a tastefully erotic dining experience (£20 for two) that includes pole dancers as part of the act, men (and accompanied women) can take a 10-minute taxi ride to the Ritz Gentlemen’s Club; tel; 247 4979 at Baie du Tombeau.
Where would you send a first-time visitor?
To the Champs de Mars, which sees weekly horse racing from May to November, racing is a sport introduced by the British in 1812 and now Port Louisiens favourite winter past time. For respite from the heat I’d send them to the walking trails in the mountains at Le Dauget just behind the racecourse. Then there’s the Blue Penny Museum, housed in a faithfully renovated dockside building, which exhibits priceless collections of philately and works of art.
What would you tell them to avoid?
Any of the glamorous beach hotels outside the capital. Strict security means you’ll be turned away.
Public transport or taxi?
Buses are cheap and plentiful. Taxis will tout for your custom but always agree a fare before accepting a ride. But as the city is very walkable and traffic painfully slow, cabs are hardly worth the bother.
Handbag or moneybelt?
Crime is low but pickpockets frequent the market and other crowded places so leave valuables at your hotel and wear a money belt.
What should I take home with me?
Port Louis is a souvenir hunter’s dream, particularly in the stalls crammed in and around the Central Market. In the air-conditioned comfort of the waterfront shops you can find bargain beach wraps, designer clothing, paintings, glassware and spices. Fashionistas can try Indya Vogue in Rue de Vieux Conseil for fine silks, saris and sandals. Winners Supermarket off La Chaussee does a luggage-friendly vacuum-packed smoked version for £1.25p.
First published in Living France magazine, 2004
Three million years ago Reunion was spawned from the seabed by seismic activity to form the tip of an underwater massif known as the Mascarene Ridge. For the first French settlers arriving in 1642 they would have seen the island hovering on the horizon like a huge bun loaf shrouded in mist. Today’s travellers will discover an incredible series of mountains encircled by a narrow coastal strip with countless ravines and peaks irregularly fashioned into three cirques, or craters, each dotted with villages, forests, rivers and waterfalls providing countless awesome vistas.
Reunion’s biggest attraction, by far, is its still active volcano, the Piton de la Fournaise. Half slumbering like a monstrous sea creature in the depths of the ocean, it stirs and splutters and occasionally wakens as if disturbed by a violent nightmare. Such are the ferocity of these eruptions that in 1986 lava flowed down the verdant east slopes to the coastal town of Ste Rose extending the island’s land mass by 30 hectares much to the islanders’ excitement. More recently in 2002, lava flows threatened to destroy the flower-bedecked Catholic shrine of the Virgin with the Umbrella near Bois Blanc on the east coast that townsfolk were forced to move it to a safer place.
One day we set off for a dawn drive to the volcano, stopping briefly at the Maison du Volcan, a treasure house packed with everything you need to know about volcanology. Thanks to scientists who regularly monitor its movements, islanders and tourists can observe most eruptions in complete safety from designated viewpoints. Passing magnificent deep gorges and desolate moonscapes on the way, our journey’s end was the Piton de la Fournaise, standing in all its grandeur beneath cloudless blue skies. The volcano begged exploration so we donned walking boots and trekked to the top along waymarked paths for a peek into its fiery depths. But for a fabulously surreal and hassle-free fix of volcano watching, a helicopter tour promises a dizzying experience as it hovers above peaks and dives into the deepest of ravines that you feel that you have penetrated the very soul of Nature.
Cirques and the City
If boots were made for walking then Reunion is made for walkers. Dozens of waymarked paths, graded depending on your level of fitness, festoon the island like a spider’s web and some link up with the three Malagasy-named cirques of Mafate, Salazie and Cilaos. Situated in a clover leaf-like pattern in the centre of the island, Mafate, with 500 inhabitants and only accessible by foot or helicopter, is a happy escape from the maelstrom of the modern world. Cilaos, renowned for wine making and lentil production, appears deceptively close on any tourist map, but needs a good two-hour drive to negotiate 262 hairpin bends from St Louis in the south. If you’re strapped for time then Salazie, an easy hour’s drive from St Andre in the east, rewards you with delightful Creole houses at nearby Hell-Bourg, including Villa Folio, a 19th-century residence offering rare insights into Creole life.
A day in St Denis reveals a distinctly provincial French flavour in its busy, often traffic-choked streets. Here we found tiny shops, delightful covered markets and finely preserved colonial buildings, such as the Hotel de Ville and Natural History Museum. Chilling out at a pavement café, a magical melee of variously hued faces wandered by. Mostly descendants of early French settlers and their slaves who came from Africa and Madagascar to work in sugar plantations, indentured workers from India and Chinese traders, today’s Reunionnais are well-integrated and exude that special warmth so characteristic of island people.
Beach Life and Botany
Driving along Reunion’s smooth-as-silk roads needs concentration but it’s a pleasurable experience as long as you don’t dilly dally, particularly on the Corniche, a super fast two-lane highway, which hugs the coast for several miles from St Denis to the fashionable beach resort of St Gilles-les-Bains on the west coast. Dubbed the St Tropez of the Indian Ocean, we discovered a cast of real cool characters along its lovely sandy beaches, from sixties’ style hippies to trendy young locals, who like us, were attracted by the blend of Gallic chic and Creole insouciance that oozes from dozens of restaurants, bars and mobile food wagons.
Laid-back St Gilles-les-Bains offers a huge range of accommodation from comfortable 4-star hotels through to self-catering apartments and, with its coral fringed lagoon, appeals to beach babes and water lovers of all ages. Culture vultures can make a beeline for the fascinating Stella Matutina Museum, a former sugar factory, now devoted to the history of sugar production and containing exhibits of machinery and a history room with original maps and oil paintings of sugar barons. Green-fingered visitors meanwhile may enjoy exploring the magnificent landscaped grounds of the Conservatoire Botanique Jardin de Mascarin where themed gardens display Reunion’s remarkable flora and fauna, including an eye-popping enclosure of weirdly shaped cacti.
There are plenty of canyoning and paragliding operators at St Gilles-les-Bains to satisfy high-octane adrenalin fans seeking that jump of a lifetime down ravines, waterfalls and gorges. But if you’re after a bird’s eye view of the west coast and want to keep your hands free for the camera, the best way is to hire a microlight. If you feel that’s a bit over the top then opt for a sedate trip aboard ‘Visiobul’, to view the antics of marine life from its glass bottom hull. For kids into wildlife there’s The Aquarium, an Ostrich Park and a Turtle Farm to keep them entertained while grown-ups might like to try horse-riding in the hills.
For retail therapy keep either Friday afternoon or Saturday free for the superb seafront market at nearby St Paul where you’ll find crafts, spices, baskets, mountains of expertly displayed fruit and veg and exotic flowers. It’s a perfect venue too for sampling piping hot Creole snacks, such as samosas and boulettes (fried spiced meat or fish balls) or hakien (light pastry filled spring rolls). At the end of the day, musicians pour out a fusion of modern and Creole music to entertain foot-tapping locals and tourists in an undeniably tropical ambience.
Experiencing the great spectacle of Reunion takes a little effort but it is well worth it and whether you walk or drive there is something for everyone. From fine beaches on the west to inland Dante-esque panoramas of cloud clapped pinnacles and peaks, a trip to Reunion is a journey to a fantastic and unique lost world.
First published in Times Travel, 2000
The Sea of Zanj, or the Sea of Blacks, was named by early Arab traders after bloody battles with the infamous Black Pirates of Madagascar who slaughtered and pillaged their way across the south western Indian Ocean. So when a sanguine crewman from the Ahinora handed us cups of water on Port Louis’ quay side and advised us to pop a pill, adding “It’s good for you,” we thought he was trying to calm us down.
Surprisingly for a nation of islanders, Mauritians make bad sailors and gladly welcome any remedy for seasickness. Many were already displaying signs of hysteria and there was not even a hint of a swell. Still, boats plying the waters between the Mascarene Islands of Mauritius, Reunion and Rodrigues are nearly always full.
We stepped aboard the Ahinora, a modern blue catamaran, along with 200 passengers for the 90-mile ride to Reunion. While we were watching Port Louis’ jagged mountains disappear from the minuscule deck, a youthful missionary from Idaho introduced himself. “I’ve been collecting souls for the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints,” announced Elder Vouse with a cheesy smile. “I started out in Madagascar because that’s where the Prophet sent me.”
As the Ahinora slapped the waves and topped 30 knots I wondered if the Prophet was with us. For most of the passengers, mainly returning Reunionnais and holidaying Mauritians, had become comatose obstacles below deck. Some hardy souls managed to take their eyes off the heavy swell only to be hypnotised by non-stop videos of Austin Powers - The Spy Who Shagged Me with Chinese sub-titles and Terminator 2 dubbed in French.
A cheerful steward distributed free lunch boxes and sick bags just in case. For most on board, the cheese sandwiches went down quite well, unlike the pudding of so-called “Chinese Strawberry Pie” and Malaysian lollipop, which promptly came back up. The steward, trying to comfort me, pointed to a row of fruit machines in front of the bar. “Why not try your luck on the machine a sous,” he suggested. I tried to insert a coin to no avail. “Sorry,” he chirped, “That one kept vomiting rupees and is only there for show.”
Six hours later Reunion hovered on the horizon like a huge bun loaf shrouded in heavy cloud. As we berthed opposite the Mauritius Pride, the Chief Officer, a pink-faced Russian called Andrei, mused that this was a job like any other, but that perks included post-voyage flings and bags of St Tropez-style beach frolics at St-Gilles-les-Bains on Reunion’s west coast.
White-water rafters, paragliding and bungee jumping are immensely popular on this island of deep ravines and mountains. With all this activity the great rock of Reunion could easily be a chunk of New Zealand, its great heights festooned with footpaths. But with no walking boots and only a few days to spare, we took an awesome helicopter tour instead. We circled over Piton de la Fournaise, the still active volcano, swooped in and out of the cirques of Mafate, Salazie and Cilaos, huge amphitheatres shaped like a shamrock, and spotted tiny villages on the way.
The island is so French that my husband’s vocabulary improved but not enough that we encountered some confusing dialogues. Trying to book a table for two persons at a Muslim-run Indian restaurant in the capital, St-Denis, he asked for “un table pour deux poisson”, only to find that it was Ramadam and fish was definitely off the menu.
Flying back to Mauritius took 45-minutes, just enough time to down a drink and take in views of verdant cane fields and lagoons swirling in vivid blues and greens. In no time we were languishing like clapped out chameleons at Beau Rivage, the latest in a line of luxury hotels on the east coast, moving only to dip toes in warm bath-like waters and snorkel to the reef. But after two days of blissful idleness we were ready for 350-mile journey to our next destination, Rodrigues.
Arrive at this backwater and you feel quarantined from the rest of the world. Rodrigues attracts wanderers and walkers for its rugged beauty and a culture more African than Indian-dominated Mauritius. But you need a lot of determination to get there. On my first visit, more than ten years ago, I travelled on a rusty cargo bucket, the MV Mauritius, which has since been scrapped, Nowadays the Mauritius Pride, with cabins and airline seats, stabilisers and a restaurant, makes the 36-hour voyage rather more appealing. But we chose to take one of the daily flights, landing at Plaine Corail in the island’s southwest before catching the Supercopter bus to the pint-sized capital, Port Mathurin. At the Escale Vacances Hotel where we were staying, the manager, Jenny Wong, welcomed us with iced mango juice. “We offer a very special kind of tourism” she said, “and don’t pretend to compete with Mauritius. People come here to unwind, to discover a real tropical island and to learn about the people.”
Living local is the joy of coming here and the absence of glitzy hotels makes it hard to believe Rodrigues is part of Mauritius. Glitz and glamour could soon reach these shores though, especially as Prince William is spending this month on the island for some gap-year recreations and environmental study. As for us, some of our party lunched with islanders in their homes while we shopped for snazzy straw briefcases in town and then sailed to the uninhabited Ile Cocos, one of many islets in the shallow lagoon, to see nesting noddies and terns.
One morning the Mauritius Pride slipped gently back into Port Mathurin. The fortnightly arrival always shakes the town from its stupor as straw-hatted Rodriguans laden with bags and baskets and battered suitcases stumble on to the quay side. Save for a couple of French backpackers there was barely a tourist amongst them and I suddenly ached to return to Mauritius, but damn it, the Mauritius Pride was full.
We took our scheduled flight back to Mauritius a couple of days later, and before long it was back to the chameleon routine at the Beau Rivage. For distraction I strolled through the hotel arcade where a Janet Reger shop displayed nifty little numbers for wannabee size 10’s. Two models, who were “resting” between photo shoots around the pool, wore nothing but G-strings and looked the perfect subjects for the island’s upmarket image. For us though, the real adventure of our Mascarene voyage was reflected in our wanderings across the deep dark sea of Zanj...and we didn’t see one pirate!